FirAndremin's Diary
by Pleading Eyes
Summary: Ever wonder what really went on in the manager's office? Investigative journalist Kay Leroux is about to write a book compiling their diaries...
1. Author's Forward

**Inspiration: **I usually am against slash phics. The idea of Erik being gay is disgusting to me, though that may be just because I want him for myself. Yet thie couple was just too cute to resist! C'mon, don't say you don't think its funny! Don't say it! ...fine, say it. But maybe reasind this might change your mind. I give a full dedication for this to my "twin", who once again inspired my insanity with an inside joke.

**Disclaimer: **Okay, assuming you already know that I don't own Phantom because I'm writing fanfiction, I just want to say I am _not _investigative journalist named Kay Leroux. That is just a very clever name I came up with to introduce the story as if it were true and being made into a book. (A thousand point to whoever guesses where I got the name from!)

**Clarification:** Characters based on the 2004 movie because I adore Gerry's interpretation. Except the deformity because I think it could've been so much better. And the swordfight because, seriously, Erik losing to Raoul? A fop? A FOP? Just trim his hair! It's the source of his power!

**FirAndremin's Diary**

It's always about that blasted Opera Ghost, isn't it? Always about him and his tragic love for Christine whatsherface. Just face it! The whole thing is a damn pity trip! Who cares if the ingénue left with Foppy deLoser? There were much more interesting cases of unrequited love going on at the time.

But no! No one stops to think about them, either of them! No one ever did. Why bother? I mean, they were just the _managers_. Isn't it much more fun to pick a side, either with the Phantom or that patron? Or even with Meg who has entirely less lines than both of them! It's ridiculous!

Such a case is that of Joseph Bouquet. Sure, the guy was a pervert. Sure, he spied on the ballet rats when they were changing. Sure, he was a greasy faced drunk with mussed hair and missing teeth. But he had a story too! No one ever talked about how he secretly wanted Madame Giry! Honestly. Here, let me show you:

XxXxXxXxXxXx  
Madame Giry: Joseph Bouquet, hold your tongue! (Slap)

Joseph Bouquet: (Takes slap with a smile) MORE! Err… I mean… you wanna bind me to the bedpost with that lasso? It wasn't what I had in mind but…

Madame Giry: JUST KEEP YOUR HAND AT THE LEVEL OF YOUR EYES! (Runs off)

Joseph Bouquet: …She digs me!  
XxXxXxXxXxXx

Of course, the phanfiction writers wouldn't have that! They needed Madame Giry to be free for their evil phiction purposes! Well then, what about Carlotta? Everyone at least _knows_ about her and Piangi! So then why is there never anything dedicated to her?

Yet another example:

XxXxXxXxXxXx  
Phantom: Our Don Juan must loose some weight… (Pokes Piangi in stomach with sword)

Piangi: (Ala Pillsbury doughboy) Hoo-hoo!

Carlotta: Ma! That's his battle cry you fool! Defend my honor, Piangi!

Piangi: (Leaps at Phantom and bites his cape) Hoo-hoo!

Phantom: Ahh! Get this blasted dough-boy off of me! (Cape rips. He jumps into a trapdoor)

Carlotta: Mi amore! Once again, you my hero! (Plants kisses all over Piangi as he munches on the torn cape)

Raoul: (Runs in buckling pants) I'm back from the bathroom to face my rival! Hey, where'd he go?

Piangi: Hoo-hoo! (Leaps at Raoul)

Carlotta: No, Ubaldo! Not him! Aim for Christine! Christine!  
XxXxXxXxXxXx

Yes, I can see how writing about that pair could quickly become a disaster beyond your imagination… still! We other characters deserve 'phans'. At least fans! We deserve 'phiction'! Just think on it! Aren't you tired of hearing about what happened to Erik after he left the Opera House? Honestly, how many possible outcomes could there be? How many times can you write his life before you exhaust the possibilities and are forced to write out-of-character garbage?

XxXxXxXxXxXx  
Phantom: The porcupine is mine!

Christine: No! It was my fathers!

Raoul: No, Christine… it wasn't. You see… I am your father!

Christine: You are?

Phantom: But he can't play violin! He doesn't even know what a violin is! And he's only like four years older than you!

Raoul: Nah-uh! (Takes off mask and becomes circus gypsy)

Phantom: GASP! You are the man who had me in a cage!

Meg: I thought you strangled him.

Phantom: I did. Hey, when did you get here? And who told you I killed him?

Meg: Apparently my mother and I are interchangeable in phiction.

Phantom: Ah, I see.

Raoul/Gypsy: Back to the matter at hand. Now I shall put Christine in the freak show, where she will learn your pain and see just how badly she has hurt you! Muahahaha!

Meg: I bet you this story gets good reviews anyway.

Phantom: Aw Meg, don't be a hater.  
XxXxXxXxXxXx

Don't let this happen! Try something else!

If you can't come up with a couple, then _I _can! You want a heartrending story of love that burned deep but couldn't be? Then why not turn to them? Living up to the standards of high-class Parisian society could be stifling. Luckily they always had each other. Unfortunately, they didn't _know_ they had each other, so they spent all their time trying to hide what they really felt. Can you feel their frustration?

Don't leave this story yet! Please, I implore you to read. It will only take a moment of your time to see what really went on in the manager's office. For you see, this is a story of feelings that would not be denied and fate that denied them anyway. This is the story of two characters which you probably know and adore, but really don't give a second thought to. This is the story of Monsieur Richard Firmin and Monsieur Gilles Andre.

I share with you now excerpts of both their diaries, combined into one unbelievably poignant book.

_Investigative Journalist:  
Kay Leroux_


	2. Actually Read The Pamphlet

Sorry I haven't updated this story! The thing is, I never really meant to keep up on this one. It's just something I write when I'm bored or when I'm taking a break from one of my stories I'm actually dedicated to. Anyway, since so many reviewers seemed to like this so much (Honostely, I thought it would seem pretty ridiculous and most people would thinkk it was dumb) I updated! Hope you enjoy! If you like it I might actually take this story seriously, who knows? Its a fun little thing.

**In which FirAndremin discover the importance of actually reading the pamphlet**

_**Andre**_

It was never my idea to buy the Opera Populair. Really, I don't think it was Firmin's either. The two of us were just fed up with hearing people hint at how since we were now rich we should now also be cultured. It seemed a shame to give up on the business of scrap metal. It had been good to us, it had made us the closest of friends.

But I suppose it was time for a change. Firmin was bored and disillusioned with what we were doing. He wanted change, wanted excitement. I wanted him to be happy. So with a smile we eagerly rode to our new Opera House, and the new profits it would bring us.

We were greeted by monsieur Lefevre, the retiring manager. He gave us no real explanation as to _why_ he was retiring but he seemed quite impatient to leave, handing us a pamphlet reading "How to manage a haunted Opera House." I shrugged this off and let my thoughts wander. The first thing I caught sight of were the beautiful statues, which were all nearly nude! I wondered absentmindedly if anyone would ever make a statue of me that way, or even of Firmin…

Good lord! What was I thinking? Nearly nude statues of Firmin? I shook my head as if to ward off any incoming mental images. This was all just a result of the long trip, that was all.

Monsieur Lefevre led us to the stage, where it seemed everyone was rehearsing. I did not realize we were interrupting until the conductor began to protest. I can't say I really felt guilty. If anything I was overjoyed. The building was stupendous, we would be rich!

Well, richer.

We were introduced to the Opera House's ballet teacher, Madame Giry. A frightening woman when provoked, if I ever saw one. I noticed the rapt interest with which Firmin studied the girls and I felt suddenly awkward knowing I was watching _him_. So I turned to the first pretty little tart that caught my eye, being a little blonde angel. I made a comment along those lines and was rewarded by a cold glare from Madame Giry who informed us that she was her 'dottair.'

Firmin, finding himself drawn by an exceptional brunette beauty, also made a comment. He was given that same cold glare as Madame Giry snapped "Ai zink of 'er az ay dottair az well!" I did not take the time to ponder her French accent, which for some reason was absent in all the rest of us, nor why we were speaking English in the first place. My mind was occupied with hating that brunette, whoever she thought she was, with her annoyingly curly locks and thin, almost skeletal figure!

I am not certain when a pair of ballet rats threw a chain around my neck. I found it most amusing and cast Firmin a look. He smiled and laughed. Victorious in gaining his attentions, I let myself relax for a while. What else could go wrong?

But then the diva, Carlotta Guidecelli, decided that our attentions were wasted on the ballet rats instead of on her where they should be. If the woman only knew!

So Firmin and I pleaded for her to stay, blah, blah, blah. Firmin convinced her to give us a private rendition. He was always the one with all the ideas!

Now here is a difficulty, putting on paper how Carlotta sounded. Well, I suppose it went something along the lines of this: "Thhhhhinka meEeEe. Thinka me FONdalyyyy when we a say a goOoOoOod…byeeeee! Rrrrrememba meEeEe!" I smiled, of course. I assumed such horrid singing was part of opera and I did not want to appear ignorant. But Firmin, how I admired him! He didn't hide his discomfort for a moment! He even checked his watch!

Then a heroic backdrop fell on La Carlotta and put everyone out of their misery. I made a mental note to promote the brave backdrop, but then Carlotta threw another fit and blah, blah, blah. So we were missing a star and on top of it all Madame Giry brought us welcome from a rather demanding Opera Ghost. The note read:

_Sup new managers, I'm the Opera Ghost. I'm sure you've heard all about me.  
__Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you'd keep box 5 open for me and not, under any circumstances, sell it to some pretty boy Viscount who might want it or something. Also, being an Opera Ghost is probably the most difficult job in the entire theatre so you better pay me soon! Any questions, refer to the pamphlet._

_-Your buddy  
__O.G._

I really wasn't all that concerned. I knew Firmin would come up with something.

In the end that all worked out. That damned brunette from earlier sang the part just fine. I have to admit, she even wormed her way into _my_ heart. Flighty but lofty little thing she was.

So Firmin and I went off to our office to celebrate. But once their something most peculiar happened. We found a note had been left with us, not unlike the message from the Opera Ghost, which Madame Giry had read to us. It was a pleasant letter, congratulating us on our brilliant casting of Ms Daae (the flighty, lofty brunette's name, apparently) and even presenting us with the gift of a bottle of fine champagne.

"Firmin!" I told him excitedly. "Look! Let's celebrate!"

"Indeed." He took the bottle from me and walked out of the office, holding the door open for me. "C'mon! Hurry! Before all the loose ballet rats get taken!" I was beyond disappointed at hearing him say this. I had wanted a party between just the two of us like pals, buddies, chums, amigos, compadres, two peas in a pod, a pair of needles in a haystack, peanut butter and jelly, macaroni and cheese, chocolate and vanilla… I also realized Firmin was staring and tapping his foot impatiently. So I went out after him, taking a long swig from the champagne bottle.

In an effort to quell my disappointment, I drank until I couldn't see straight. Not that anyone noticed, almost everyone else was intoxicated as well. The details of that night are rather fuzzy but I do remember something about taking a pair of particularly trampish ballet rats out to dinner.

The next morning I woke up in the office with a migraine from hell. I sat up sluggishly, wincing and having to hold my pounding head, and realized that I was lying on the desk, wearing only one pant leg. The other dangled uselessly off the side of the desk. My shirt was unbuttoned all the way down, leaving my chest bare. What in the world had happened? What kind of champagne had that been?

Something stirred beside me and I noticed for the first time that someone was lying next to me. _No… is it…?_ I turned slowly, half out of anticipation and half out of concern for my headache. _Oh dear lord!_ It was our new patron! The Viscount de Chagny! Apparently things had not gone so well with Ms Daae. Yes, I remembered speaking with Raoul about her right before the world became a blur.

The viscount turned, beside him lay Firmin. "What in god's name?" I screamed and backed away until I fell off the desk.

Raoul grimaced and sat up, his eyes barely parted. "Keep it down, will ya? I'm trying to sleep." He noticed who I was and my inappropriate state. His eyes widened considerably and he sat there, blinking at me stupidly. "Hey, where'd the ballerinas go? They were here last night before you two passed out." So there had been women with us! I sighed in relief and… something else. Was it… disappointment? I couldn't quite tell… why would I be anything other than thankful?

Firmin chose that moment to wake. He seemed just as confused and panicked as I, though he did a marvelous job of keeping face. "Oh, Monsieur le Viscount. I take it you had trouble with Ms Daae?" He stood casually, as if waking up on your desk, half stripped of your clothing, with two other men, was perfectly normal.

"Ms Daae?" Raoul thought for a moment, then sprang to his feet. "Oh, that's right! That's what I was doing when you two invited me up here for some fun with the corpse de ballet. Christine's room is locked and I heard a strange voice! Call a blacksmith!" And, without so much as putting on his trousers, he bolted out, all the while repeating at the top of his lungs. "Call a blacksmith! A blacksmith!" I looked at Firmin. An unsteady silence settled in between us.

Firmin cleared his throat and began straightening himself out. "Well then. I suppose we should make breakfast then?"

"Indeed." I agreed, suddenly feeling my cheeks flame and turning around so Firmin could not see.

_**

* * *

**_

_**Firmin**_

The morning was already off to a horrible start. I had a migraine, I had no recollection whatsoever of the last few hours, and to top it all off a black horse had been stolen from the Opera House's stable, along with our private chef. So, damn it all, Andre had to cook.

And just to make a bad day worse, Andre insisted on wearing his frilly pink 'Kiss me, I'm French!' apron.

"Andre!" I groaned. "Must you wear that?"

"I think its cute." He replied indignantly.

"It's ridiculous! You look like a woman!" Didn't I know it…

"I am perfectly secure in my masculinity, thank you very much!" he said with the toss of his head. "Now, would you mind opening this jar of pepper for me?" I groaned again and pressed my fingertips to my temples. This day was _not_ getting any better.

"Here, have some coffee. They say caffeine does a migraine well." Said a melodious voice beside me. I turned and took the cup he offered me.

"Thank you, Monsieur…" I looked up and caught sight of the man sitting beside me. Sometime, during my arguing over Andre's preposterous apron, a masked man clad in an evening suit had apparently snuck in and taken a seat. I stared, mouth agape, as he helped himself to my bacon. I quickly referred to the pamphlet. Under clause 24B dash little e, there was a statement claiming:

_If under any circumstances the Opera Ghost should appear uninvited at breakfast, he secures every right to your eggs and bacon. _

Below it was a little picture of a masked man stealing biscuits off the plate of the man beside him.

I would have screamed, err… that is _at_ the ghost, not that I was frightened or anything. The thing is, at that moment Andre chose to serve me my eggs. He had sprinkled _way_ too much salt on them and my fear, I mean anger, was replaced by annoyance.

"What, are you trying to kill me?" I shouted.

"Oh, what now?" Andre said, rolling his eyes.

"You know how high my sodium levels are!" I said, slamming my fist against the table and causing my fork to bounce, conveniently, into the palm of the Opera Ghost beside me.

"Well if you don't like it, don't eat it!" Andre retorted, his hands on his hips, as he poured the rest of the eggs for our masked visitor who ate them with vigor. "See? _He_ likes them!" Andre said with a victorious smile as he crossed to the cabinet to retrieve some biscuits.

"Yes, yes, they're rather excellent, aren't they?" The Ghost said, wiping his mouth with _my_ napkin. "Clause 76G dash little p: The Opera Ghost is entitled to your napkins, notes, bed sheets, handkerchiefs, or any other form of paper or thin fabric." He said smugly, as if reading my thoughts.

I opened my mouth to say something, but I found a forkful of egg in my mouth. "At least _try_ them, Richard!" Andre pleaded, still holding the fork at the ready.

"Gilles!" I stood, exasperated. "This is the Opera Ghost!"

Andre looked over at the Ghost in confusion, then over at me, then back at the Ghost, then down at his plate, then back up at me, the to the Ghost, the to his plate, then to the Ghost, then to me, then to the Ghost, then to his plate, then to me, then to his plate, them back up at the Ghost. "Really?" he asked, finally.

"Guilty as charged." Said the Ghost, nonchalant. "Anyway, I must be off." He took my hat from the rack and placed it on his head as he moved towards the door. "And I realize I was late to last night's performance, but you must never sell my box again. That's why I was forced to murder your chef this morning, just so you'd learn your lesson. I hope you will be more cooperative in the future. It really is a great deal of trouble to go all the way and kidnap someone then murder them in cold blood…" he sighed as if he was very tired. "I tell you, I get all excited over a kill and then I never get to sleep!" With that he shook his head and threw my hat back at me. "And do try to acquire a taste in fashion, will you?" He smirked at Andre. "Nice apron."

"Thank you!" Andre beamed. "Are you sure you must be leaving so soon, monsieur Phantom? I was just about to make pancakes…"

"No, no. I must be off." The Ghost interrupted, putting up a hand to silence any attempts to sway him. "As much as I enjoy pancakes, I must get home. You see, I just kidnapped my first date ever and I don't want her waking up all alone in my home. She's not very bright, bless her pretty little head, and may drown in my two-foot lake." He smiled, dreamily. Then suddenly he frowned. "That and the fact that Hoo-hoo should be here any moment. I think I heard him catch the scent of food. MUAHAHA!" Along with the unexpected maniacal laughter came a puff of smoke, a few coughs, and a curse… and then he was gone.

"What an awfully nice ghost." Andre said, pondering. "Do you think he'll join us for breakfast again sometime soon?"

I slammed my forehead into the table in frustration. "That's not a ghost!" I said, my voice muffled by the wood of the table. "It's obviously someone from the cast trying to play a trick on us, that's all."

"Hmm, I suppose then I shouldn't have put so much extra sugar in those biscuits he was eating, huh?" I sat up, my eyes horrified at the thought of a sugar-rushed prankster pretending to be the Phantom.

I didn't have much time to ponder the thought, though. True to the phantom's word, Piangi came bursting in through the door crying "Hoo-hoo!" and leapt for our skillets. At first we were outraged, well at least I was. Andre was flattered to have someone who enjoyed his over seasoned food so much. But all that ended when he bit off a chunk of Andre's apron, scraping a bit of his skin in the process.

"He's tasted human blood!" Andre screamed as we rushed back towards the office, slamming the door and barricading it with all the non-edible items we could find.

From outside we could hear Piangi slamming himself repeatedly into the door, trying to break it down. "I suppose… this is… a good time to …go over… private business matters then." Andre said, gasping for air.

"We should've actually _read_ the pamphlet before we took this job!" I nodded, taking out the pamphlet and checking it for any references on how to avoid being eaten.


	3. A'hunting For The Opera Ghost

Wow. I haven't written this in so long that I think I've lost the feel for it. Oh well. Here it is. If you get tired waiting, though, I always have my other story: My Father, the Fop. Also humor, by the way. For anyone waiting for Shape in the Shaodws to return, it will! Fanfiction dot net has taken it down because it was in script format, but I will be reposting it elsewhere. Stay tuned to my profile for info.

For anyone who wants to read my attempts at a serious phic, read In Retrospect. It's my new phic, and hopefully it's not terrible. Tell me what you think!

Now, review replies!

**Nekona:** Aww! Don't be sad! SITS was taken down for being in script format! But I WILL be reposting it elsewhere! My profile will keep you posted! I promise! Thank you so much for reading my stories and being patient with my random updating.

**Aliyu: **Have you gotten any sleep? Maybe this chapter will help. It has marshmallows.

**Pirates are a girls best friend: **The link didn't come up in your review. This makes me sad because I can't draw but I love artwork...

**The Singing Fox Demon: **Yes, I'm ashamed for taking so long. Sorry. I hope it's still interesting, thugh I hope you don't expect it to get too deep. It is, afterall, a gag parody. Thank you so much for your review! I shall try to be better with updating ths story...

**Baffled Seraph: **I haven't heard from you in a while! Are you stll around? Look, I updated! Please come back!

**Weird Kitty Foxglove:** Wow, you gave me an weirdmental image. Piangi pumping his fist in the air but his girth causes an earthquake, spliting the Earth down the middle. In a desperate attempt to keep the planet in one peice, everyone shoved Carlotta in the crack...

**Tsunami Wave: **Mind? I would be HONORED if you drew fanart! I can't draw at all, though! So make sure you give me a link!

**AllThatJazz777: **(In a trance by your awesome penname) Yes master... will continue... I agree with the slash comment. It's all in good fun!

**Chapter 2: In Which Firmin and Andre Go A'hunting For The Opera Ghost**

_**Andre**_

It was Madame Giry who knocked on our office door hours later, informing us that the coast was clear. It was too panicked to even think of answering the door, even for Madame Giry, but luckily Firmin was excellent with public appearances. He straightened his lapels, cast me a glare that said 'Get up and change your soiled pants, you coward', and strolled casually out.

Why couldn't I be more like him? Why couldn't I know how to turn off my emotions and become a businessman like him? Why couldn't I scream and run away like a girl without wetting myself, like Firmin could? He was so… _manly_. He was everything I wanted to be.

Or maybe he was simply everything I _wanted_.

Of course, in a completely platonic, business partner and friend way. Of course… obviously… undoubtedly… indubitably…

I hurried into the backroom to change.

_**Firmin**_

"We 'ave ey pobleem!" Madame Giry said, her face flustered beyond what I ever thought it could be.

"What? I'm sorry. It's hard to understand you. Here, write it down." I handed her a scrap of paper I found on the floor, probably the remains of Piangi's rampage, and a writing utensil.

_Christine Daae eez meezeen._ She wrote. _Ai zink she 'as been kidnapped._

"Um… yeah. One moment. Excuse me." I backed into the office, slamming the door in the Madame's face. "ANDRE!"

"Coming!" Andre emerged, one pant leg on and the other dragging on the floor. The man may have had no talent for public appearances, but he was far better at interpreting other's feelings than I.

"Yes, come here. No, pull your pants up. No, now they're inside out. Here, let me do it. No, don't squirm so much! Alright, suck it in! Got it." I took a pinch of his sleeve and pulled him over to the door, opening it to a very shocked, or was it furiously insulted, Madame Giry.

"Wat eez zat all aboot?"

"Aboot? Now she's Canadian?" I said, bringing a hand to my forehead in frustration.

"Madame Giry, what's the matter? You look simultaneously flustered, shocked, and furiously insulted." Andre was such a sucker. Always worrying about people and concerning himself with little matters like their safety or well-being. No wonder he was such a bad business man and so talented at needle-point.

"I ZAID! We 'ave ey pobleem! ChristineDaae eez meezeen. Ai zink she 'as been kidnapped. Zen jour pahrtner 'ere slams ze door een mah face! Wat eez zat all about?"

"Aha! _Now_ she says _about_! I don't really think she even has an accent! She's just messing with out heads!" I pointed in accusation at the old woman, but Andre calmly moved me aside.

"Now Firmin, remember your blood-pressure." He said, breathing deeply to remind me to do my breathing exercises to relax. I harrumphed and turned away, fuming. I _hate_ it when Andre undermines my authority. Granted, I do it to him all the time. But that's not the same! He _needs_ me to undermine him. He'd be lost without me! Didn't I mention he was a terrible business man?

But moving on. Andre turned to Madame Giry and the two conversed for a while about womanly things until finally Andre turned back to me and announced. "Oh dear, it seems Ms Daae has disappeared. Some believe she's been kidnapped."

"Really? And we should care why…?"

"Because, Firmin! She's the lead soprano!"

I had no head for the matter at hand. Really, what did I care whether some stupid chorus girl was missing or not? Sure, she had performed well at the gala. But if she was missing we could always pick another one, right?

"She eez ze only one 'oo can zing eet."

"Huh?"

"She said, she is the only one who can sing it." Andre translated.

"Who, Madame Giry?"

"No, Christine Daae."

"Christine Daae said it? I thought she was gone."

"No. Madame Giry said it."

"Said what?"

"That only she can sing it!"

"Only Madame Giry can sing it?"

"No! Christine!"

"Oh, she's back?"

"No! Madame Giry said that only Christine can sing it."

"…sing what?"

_**Andre**_

A few hours later we were below the Opera House, searching for the Opera Ghost. Firmin, after figuring out what was going on, had decided that we should ask the so-called 'ghost' if the girl he had kidnapped and Christine Daae were one in the same. I asked Firmin how we could find the Opera Ghost if he didn't exist, as Firmin claimed. Firmin told me to shut it and hurry up. I followed without further ado, bringing a blanket and a few other essential emergency supplies with me.

We wandered through the catacombs, the blanket draped over the both of us and an oil lamp in Firmin's hand to light the way. I held the bag of essential miscellaneous supplies to my chest tightly. It did not go unnoticed how the protection blanker forced Firmin and myself into close contact. At least, it did not go unnoticed by me. Firmin showed no signs of even knowing I was there with him.

But then again, Firmin was focused on the task at hand. He always was excellent at buckling down and gritting his teeth to do what had to be done without stopping. I, on the other hand, have always been the type to take breaks and get discouraged after a while. I don't think I could've ever made _any_ money in the junk business without Firmin, let alone a fortune.

Firmin was wearing a new cologne, I realized. But it wasn't the one I had given him for Christmas. Not to say I didn't like it, it was enchanting. But I was a bit insulted that _my_ fragrance had not been good enough for him.

Oh my, that came out wrong. What I meant to say was—AHH! There was suddenly a face in front of us. I buried my face into Firmin's back, cowering in the safety of the blanket. Firmin stood strong, though I could swear I had heard him scream too.

"You ninny!" Firmin said, pulling me out from behind him. "It's only a mirror."

"B-but the face!"

"Only our own reflections, distorted by the bright light of the lamp."

"Oh…" I exhaled in relief, then peered up at the mirror. "Well, quite a handsome face, if I do say so myself."

"Don't brag. It makes you more unbearable than you already are." Firmin said, pulling the blanket away to force me into moving on. I kept my gaze down in shame and did not dare to mention that I had meant _his_ reflection. I suppose that is a compliment Firmin will never know he received…

_**Firmin**_

I knew I had just received a compliment. I am no fool! I had noticed that Andre had been looking at my reflection, not his own. But it had overwhelmed to hear him say it when I wasn't prepared so I had been forced to shoot his spirits down. Really! The man had no sense of timing! Could there be a more inappropriate time to tell me of my greatness?

I stopped. There was an awkward creaking sound in the air. It unsettled me, though I didn't know why.

That is until the creaking sound became a crashing sound and we fell through the floor.

"What a horrible place!" Andre whined, rubbing his soar behind. And what a behind… "There will be employees fired for this! Whose responsibility is it to have this repaired, anyway?"

"Yours." I said, standing quickly and dusting myself off as if I felt nothing. I knew showing any signs of pain would only encourage Andre to whine and groan about his own pains, whether or not they were really all that bad. Inverse-reverse psychology: if you ignore it, no one will remember it happened.

"Oh, in that case I should get right on that." Andre muttered dejectedly, picking up his bags. He looked like a child. I suddenly felt pedophilic.

"Andre!" I shouted, trying to clear my thoughts.

"What?" he jumped, nearly dropping his things once more. This place had turned him into more of a mouse than he already was.

"What…" I repeated, trying to think up a reason for my shout. "What… is in that anyway?" I snatched up the bag, tearing it open. White fluffs of frivolous flavor greeted me from its depths. "Marshmallows?"

"Yes."

"I told you to only bring the essentials!" I thundered. Or I tried to thunder. My voice was beginning to become hoarse under the cold conditions and from my constant attempts to thunder.

"They _are_ essentials!" Andre insisted. "Miscellaneous essentials! I _told_ you! You said it was fine!"

"Andre…" I said in a sing-song, mock kind voice. "If something is miscellaneous… HOW CAN IT BE ESSENTIAL?"

He said nothing but took back his bag defiantly. I scoffed and bent to pick up my lamp. It had cracked and was leaking. We would be out of light in mere moments. "Andre, we have to get out of here." I looked around, hurried. We had to find our way out before the light was spent or we would be fumbling in the dark. But where were we? The drop had left us in a foreign place. I could not even see where we had fallen through. Shouldn't there be a gaping hole?

"This way." Andre said, signaling for me to follow him down a hall. "It looks like we've been here before. Wherever we fell, it just led us backwards."

"But how does that even work?" It didn't make sense! We had been going _down_ the entire time. How did falling through a hole take us back _up_? "Even worse, how do _you_ know? You never know anything!"

"I left a trail of marshmallows, incase we lost our way." He said with a triumphant grin. "I _told_ you! They're miscellaneous essentials!" I said nothing but walked ahead, following the sticky sugar-puff trail.

This went on for a while; the oil lamp began to flicker dangerously low, until suddenly the trail ended. I looked around, but we were in the middle of a hall, nowhere near and exit.

"Andre? What happened?" I demanded through clenched teeth.

"I…I don't know. I made the trail the whole way! It should lead back up to the Opera House! What's going on…?" We were interrupted by strange slurping noises from behind us. We both turned slowly, dreading, and found a marshmallow. "Well there's one!" Andre said happily.

I tapped his should so he would look at who was _eating_ the marshmallow trail. The, on the floor, was Piangi, slurping up the remains of a marshmallow with his fat pink tongue.

"Hmm?" He stopped and looked up, the ripples of fat in his neck rippling. "Hoo-hoo?" He stared at Andre and me in confusion for a few moments, not at all seemingly interested in us. Perhaps Piangi didn't eat people, after all he had behaved relatively well at rehearsal. Perhaps then we were safe.

Then he spotted the marshmallow bag in Andre's hand. The lamp flickered with finality.

"HOO-HOO!" The lamp died.

"AHH!" We ran. We abandoned the blanket and the useless lamp and ran.

"Andre, you idiot! How could you use marshmallows when we _just_ escaped from hoo-hoo?"

"Well at least I brought _something_ to help us find out way out!" He retorted lamely. I was sure he must've been blushing in shame but I could not tell for sure in the dark.

"We're going to run into a wall if we keep this up!" I realized aloud. "We have to find a light!" From behind us we could hear hoo-hoo giving chase. How could the fat man move so quickly? Oh yes, he was probably rolling.

"HOO-HOO!" he called behind us. "HOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOO!"

"Andre, incase I don't say it often enough, you are SUCH an idiot!"

"Well, you don't like me for my brain! Everyone knows that! So stop beating a dead horse!"

"HOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOO!"

"Stop beating a dead horse? Andre! Don't use sayings if you don't know what they mean! Besides, beating dead horses is an absolutely ghastly idea. I wouldn't even beat a dead one."

"HOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOO!"

"Not unless you were paid the right price!"

"HOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOO!"

"Oh, come now! Any good businessman makes _sacrifices_! It's the only way to survive in a volatile market!"

"HOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOO!"

"Not that you know what a volatile market _is_! …by the way, Firmin, what does volatile mean?"

"HOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOO!"

"We can play dictionary later! Right now we need a way out! If only we knew why he was still chasing us…"

Suspicious munching and squishing sounds came from Andre's direction. "Yum. Here, have some. It will calm your nerves and give you energy to keep running."

"HOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOO!"

"Andre, are those…? Please tell me they're not!"

"They're not. Why'd you want me to say that for?"

"HOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOO!"

I groped blindly in Andre's direction until I came upon the offending bag and seized it. "Oh, god. It is! Andre, why do you still have the marshmallows?"

"HOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOO!"

"Didn't we go through this already, Firmin? They're a miscellaneous essential!"

"HOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOO!""

"You moron! We are about to become a miscellaneous splatter in hoo-hoo's stomach!" I flung the bag as far as I could, hearing a small splash.

"HOO-HOO?" The sounds behind us stopped and soon another, giant splash was to be heard, followed by a wave of displaced water. I stopped and grabbed Andre's shoulder to halt him as well. We seemed to be safe now, though soaked, and I couldn't run anymore anyway.

"What the hell?" A torch flickered in the distance. "Who emptied the lake?" came the familiar, melodious voice of our resident Opera Ghost impersonator.

"Um… aren't you taking me back now? Please?" Said a soft female voice pleadingly.

"Oh, shut it Ms 'I can't even ask your name before I go tearing into your private business and ripping off your masks!' Besides, I'm doing what I can! Have you ever tried rowing a gondola in an empty lake bed with nothing but an awesome looking staff? Didn't think so!"

The distant torch was enough to light the path ahead. Taking a deep breath, I grabbed Andre and pulled him with me up the steps.

"Zere joo ah! Wat ah joo doin' down 'ere?" I didn't how or why she was here, but she had a working oil lamp.

"Give me that!" I demanded, taking it before she could protest.

"Madame, how and why are you here?" Andre asked, being his foolish, almost caring self as usual.

"How?" She shrugged. "But I am 'ere to peek oop a packaje!"

"Pick up a package? What package?"

"Andre! Who cares? Let's go!"

"Well, eet eez more of a who zan a wat. But ai 'ave said too much!"

"Don't care, don't care." I chanted under her words. "Come on Andre! We have important manager stuff to do!"

"Like what?"

"Like… get someone to fix the floors down here! Now hurry! The whole Opera House depends on it!" And took his arms roughly and hurried him out of the cellars before he could say another word. Besides, it looked like this area of the cellars had been inconspicuously cleaned/gold-painted it and whoever had done it was now trying to dirty/scrape it off quickly before anyone else noticed.

* * *

Phew! What an adventure for our beloved FirAndremin! But what awaits them when they are forced to perform IL Muto with Carlotta as the lead? Is there someone more frightening than hoo-hoo afterall? 


End file.
